Photograph
by igirisexual
Summary: A whole twisted affair of lies and secrets and not giving in, and it all started because Wang Yao took a single photograph. RoChu/AmeChu.


It had only been a photograph. Ivan had been too busy to see it being taken, and Yao had been too drunk to think properly. They were both drunk, although Yao moreso than his boyfriend. Ivan had been going at it behind him, thrusting up against Yao's own hips, as Yao leant his weight on his chest and clumsily took a picture with his mobile phone.

Morning came, and both young men awoke with heavy hangovers, Ivan's worse than Yao's. He always got nasty headaches after drinking too much. It'd been a fun night. He reflected on the evening as he drowsily got up from beside his weary lover and went to the kitchen for some aspirin. God, he really needed aspirin. He retrieved some painkillers for Yao as well, and brought them to the bedroom with a glass of orange juice. He smiled at the again softly snoring Yao. He'd wait until Yao woke up to try communicating.

Ivan slept again, and woke up around midday from Yao's lips sluggishly pressing against his own. He blinked his eyes softly open, and smiled. "Good morning," he breathed softly, slowly reaching up a hand and touching Yao's cheek. "Hungover?"

"So hungover," Yao laughed softly, kissing Ivan again before gently laying back down beside him.

"There are painkillers on the nightstand," Ivan yawned, slowly sitting up and getting them to give to Yao. After handing them over, he glanced around the room a moment, trying to work out how much light was in the room, and if it was too much. His eye caught on something on the bed.

"Yao, you can't bring your phone into bed," he snorted. "Unless you want it rolled on and crushed." He leant forward and picked up the phone, turning it on. "I'm gonna play Candy Crush as a hangover cure."

"That's not a hangover cure," Yao mused, gently shoving his boyfriend. "A new addiction doesn't solve an old one." Ivan simply laughed. "Here, I'll unlock it for you," he yawned, clumsily taking the phone and sliding in the number password. He was horrified when his phone unlocked and he saw something he should never have had to see. His Instagram page was still loading from refreshing, but as the picture slowly loaded, he felt a kind of dread he'd never felt before.

"What is it?" asked Ivan, smiling as he leant over. His smile dropped in an instant. There it was, a kind of blurry photograph of a flushed-faced Yao, leaning over on his front as he had sex with Ivan. Ivan's face wasn't in the photo, only his torso, and he was thankful for that, but he was more focused on Yao right now. "What the hell?" he mumbled, staring at Yao. "You posted this? What, when?" Yao dropped his phone in fright.

"I-I don't know!" he stammered, staring down at the screen and all the comments on the photograph. "Oh, fuck," he whispered, picking up his phone again and hurriedly reading the comments. They were mostly from friends, thank god, but that wasn't really much better than strangers. He thanked the lords that he wasn't very popular on the website. He deleted the photo without another word.

"Christ, Yao," Ivan mumbled, head reeling. "It was last night, wasn't it?" he murmured. "I heard.. I think I heard a click, fuck," he grumbled. "What if our friends saw? What if your boss saw?" he asked in a grunt, too hungover and sick to be faced with this kind of situation. Yao just dropped his phone and put his face in his hands, terrified.

"I'm so sorry," he mumbled, trying not to cry out of shame. "I've done something stupid."

"You certainly have," Ivan murmured. "Jesus Christ," he cursed softly. "You're the one who's going to have to clean up your mess."

* * *

><p>Ivan had always been a bit selfish. Francis had seen the photograph, and so had Alfred, and so had other of their friends. When asked about it, Ivan would refuse to admit that the other man in the photograph was him. He even went as far as to imply Yao was cheating on him. He'd rather that than have himself included in this mess Yao had set up.<p>

"So who're you letting fuck him?" Francis asked, sipping his coffee. Ivan had been through this conversation three times, once with Alfred, and twice with Francis. He hadn't answered the last two times.

"I'm not giving anyone permission," Ivan murmured, nibbling his biscuit and looking away from the Frenchman. "Yao had a night out without me, and he got drunk to hell. He was under the influence. It wasn't his fault."

"And he posted it with the caption 'with the bae'?" Francis asked, raising a brow. "I think that implies a little more than a one night stand, cher."

"He probably got confused," Ivan lied, frowning. "He probably found someone who looked like me and got confused." Francis sighed, and their conversation dwindled to silence.

Rumors spread within the next week. The only person with a similar build to Ivan that anyone knew was Ludwig Beilschmidt, a tall and muscled blond, with a torso almost exact to Ivan's. They were both pale, and both had firm chests and stomachs. It was understandable Ludwig could be framed as the other person in the photo. Ivan wasn't sure how these rumors got around, but they were in he and Yao's faces before too long.

The doorbell rang. Ivan and Yao were at Yao's house relaxing on the couch and watching afternoon cartoons. "I'll get it," sighed Ivan softly, watching Yao seem to sink into the sofa. He'd gotten some shit from friends and family, and was in a state of hiding right now. Ivan opened the door, looking down at a short man with curled chestnut hair. He hadn't seen this man before.

"Is a bastard called Yao here!" he cried, thick accent present in his words. "I'm-a going to kick his ass!" Ivan frowned.

"He's not," Ivan murmured, but the man just peeked in past him and saw Yao on the couch. With a surprising amount of strength, the young man shoved Ivan aside and marched to in front of Yao, pointing an accusatory finger down at him.

"You shit-eating fuckhead! You're not going to get away with what you did to my brother!" he shouted, glaring down at the older man. "What do you have to say for yourself?!"

Yao simply shrank a bit where he sat. "I don't even know you," he stammered, really not in the mood for any of this. "Please get out of my house."

"No, I won't! Not until you tell me why the hell you're-a fucking my brother's muscle man! I mean, I hate him, but I love my brother, you sick fuck!" he shouted, face red with the effort it took to make his voice so loud.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Yao said, quietly and calmly. "Ivan, please help him out." Ivan, on cue, picked this man up by his shoulders and took him out of the house. He then stepped back inside and locked the door.

Returning to Yao, he sighed and sat on the couch. "What was all that about?" Yao asked, looking at him seriously. "Have you been saying something to people?"

"I never said it was someone else by name," he sighed, glancing away. "In the photograph. I just told anyone who asked that it wasn't me."

"What?" Yao mumbled, confused. "Wait, you did that?"

"I don't want to be involved in your mess," Ivan shrugged. "It's your problem, and you have to face the consequences."

"You're so cold," Yao snapped, standing up and leaving the room so he wouldn't start to cry in front of his boyfriend.

* * *

><p>Yao could feel their eyes on him. Judging, discriminating, finding new reasons to hate him. He'd caused the breaking up of one of the most beloved couples around, and started receiving the hatred of all who cared; it seemed to be a large web. No matter how many times he asked, he pleaded, Ivan wouldn't back down and apologise, tell people it was him in the photograph. His fucking pride was too important, apparently. Yao couldn't even walk through the library. He'd caught a glimpse of Gilbert, Ludwig's older brother, and was just terrified of what he might do. He'd been known to be a little violent. Usually, Yao was a man of courage and bravery, but he felt so inept and powerless that he couldn't even keep that up.<p>

He was here, in the library, to avoid Ivan. Time around him just made him feel nervous and sick, and he needed peace and quiet to try and rest his mind and stop him from becoming a wreck. One lie had turned into many, and then those lies had doubled, tripled, until they wove a broken story that Yao was trapped within. Ivan had the tools and the means to cut him free, but he didn't, for fear of getting those sticky lies upon himself. Yao would apologise a lot, begging Ivan to take it back. Ivan would brush him off and tell him it was his fault.

He came home that evening to Ivan sitting at his dinner table, reading a novel. When Yao arrived, he closed the book, and looked up. "Hello."

"What're you doing here?" Yao muttered, not wanting to see this foul man right now. "Get out of my house."

"You're avoiding me," Ivan frowned. "I've been trying to make things right, you know."

Yao snorted, amused at the thought. He crossed his arms. "Yeah, of course you have. Like what?"

"I left messages on your phone, asking for when you were free. I thought a date would do us good." Yao couldn't believe this.

"About the fucking photograph, Ivan!" he snarled, clenching his teeth in frustration. "You could just own up and save me all the trouble! What's wrong with you?! Just say it already, you hate me! Get it over with!" he cried, hands balled into tight fists at his sides.

Ivan frowned, like he had no idea of what he'd done. "What? I don't hate you."

"Sure fucking feels like it," Yao mumbled, trying his hardest not to let himself cry. "Ivan, are you going to tell them? Our friends? Are you going to clear things up for me?" His voice was but a hoarse whisper now.

"It's your problem."

Yao lost control of himself, and before he knew what was happening, his palm had abruptly slapped Ivan's face, hard. "You bastard!" he cried, tears freely flowing from his eyes as he grabbed Ivan by the collar. "Why are you such a selfish asshole!" he cried, staring into Ivan's clueless eyes as if that'd provide him with an answer.

"It's not my problem-"

"Shut up!" Yao snapped before Ivan could say anything. He looked as if he was about to cry too, but for his reason, Yao cared naught. "You are.. were? I don't know, maybe we're still boyfriends! I don't fucking know anymore, 'cause it really fucking seems like you don't want me around!"

"I do-" Ivan went to say, but began to cry. Yao just grinded his teeth and let go of him, stepping back from where he was leaning over the table. Yao took his coat again and left without a word.

* * *

><p>'<em>It seems you hate me. I don't understand why. But, if you must, you can go. Whether you still hold affection for me or not does not matter, because I do not wish to associate with someone as falling-through in life as you are; someone who cannot deal with the consequences of his actions. I'm sorry it came to this. I was in love with you, once.'<em>

Yao looked at the screen, letting himself have a single dry laugh at that. Ivan didn't even have the balls to break up with him face to face. He threw his phone at the wall, hearing it crack. He didn't care. He decided he needed some remedial drinking to try and get him back on track. He assumed he and Ivan had been broken up a month ago, when they'd fought over Yao's table, but only now did Ivan make it official. The bastard. Yao had been so in love, so enamoured, so captured by Ivan and his charms, but now all he felt was dread and regret.

He found himself at the bar that night, sitting there with a glass of some kind of alcohol in his hand. He hadn't been paying attention. He just asked for one that would get him drunk quickly. He brought it to his lips and took a sip. Sickened by the taste, he shoved it back toward the bartender. "Anything but vodka."

"Maybe you should have a little wine," suggested the younger man beside him, who Yao had failed to notice until now.

"Wine, then," mumbled Yao, frowning up at Francis. "Are you still talking to me?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't," Francis sighed, swirling about the wine in his own glass. "Ivan handled the situation very badly," he mused. "Please don't blame yourself." Yao actually smiled for the first time in a while, albeit a sad smile.

"Okay. If you say so," he sighed. "You don't.. think it's my fault?"

"Yao!" cried another voice, interrupting what Francis was about to say. "Buddy, aw man," he whined, throwing his arms around Yao and hugging him incredibly tightly. "Dude, it's not your fault!"

Yao gently reached his arms back around Alfred, in a half-hearted hug. "Thanks, I guess.."

"Franny doesn't think so either!" he huffed, squeezing Yao once more. "I don't care if no one else likes you, cos we're your friends!"

The night past that was a blur, full of shots, drinking and more drinking, and a little drinking. Yao was a mess by the end of the night, stumbling around, probably with his shirt off. When he woke up the next morning, head throbbing, he turned his head and noticed Alfred F. Jones laying beside him. He wasn't exactly sure what to think. He slowly got up and went to the kitchen of this house (luckily it was his own) and got some aspirin. When he returned, Alfred was awake.

"Hey, bro," Alfred smiled, getting out of the bed. Okay, he still had his jeans on. That was a good sign. "Hungover?"

"So hungover," Yao mumbled wearily, returning to his bed. "Um, last night, did we-..?"

"Huh? Oh, no," he laughed loudly. "I just took you home, since you were trying to drive." He mused. "Then I had no way of getting home 'cos I left my car at the bar, so I just kinda crashed here. Hope that's okay," he hummed.

"Yeah, it's fine," Yao said quietly, sitting down and looking at Alfred curiously. "Ah.. Thank you."

"S'okay," Alfred yawned. "Just wanted you to be okay, man."

Yao smiled dumbly down at his glass of water. "Seriously, thank you." He hadn't felt truly cared about for a while, and this was incredibly nice. "Ah.." he murmured, butterflies in his stomach. "You don't.. You don't think any different of me? After the whole photo incident?"

"The only person I think different of is Ivan, seriously," he sighed. "Not what I woulda done."

"Mm.." he said quietly, slowly dipping his head. "Thank you, Alfred. You're too kind."

"Just as kind as you deserve."

He smiled dopily and looked away. Perhaps things would look up. "Alfred, can you come here a moment?" he asked softly.

"Mm?" said Alfred, leaning over. In a moment of impulse, Yao took the boy's cheeks in his hands and kissed him, smiling stupidly. Alfred was initially surprised, but wasn't going to fight it, and gently pushed his lips back against Yao's. Yao gently let go, just smiling at him. "Thank you, Alfred," he smiled, stupidly.

"Only thank me if you're gonna be needing more of those," Alfred wheezed softly, red as a ruby.

Yao smiled softly, glancing away with cheeks just as red as Alfred's. "I think I might." And things would only keep looking up from here on out.


End file.
